


Reclaimed

by GloriaMundi



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: C17, Gen, Historical, Missing Scene, Pirates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-17
Updated: 2006-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-05 20:51:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriaMundi/pseuds/GloriaMundi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I <span class="u">am</span> the sea."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reclaimed

Once in ten years was once too often, often as not. On land he was slow, and heavy, his senses crippled: he gasped like a fish out of its element. Land was crowded with people; teeming with women; fraught with difficulties. The sea was his, and he was the sea.

From a pair of Marines clinging to a broken foremast, storm-wracked at the eastern end of the Mediterranean, he heard tales that only confirmed what Rumour'd whispered to him via fishermen and Navy men, pirates and priests. Tales of a fabulous treasure, of an ancient curse, of love and heroism and sacrifice.

"And the pirate captain," said the taller Marine, snivelling and gasping on the _Dutchman_'s deck. "'e was killed, according to those as was there: shot through his rotten black heart."

"_I_ heard his enemy ran him through with a sword," argued the other Marine, blood running unheeded from the gash that bared his skull. "An' he jus' kept fighting 'til he looked down --"

"Enough!" roared Davy Jones: and for a wonder, they fell silent, and spoke only to swear their service to him, and to the ship, and to the sea.

When his masters (o, Davy Jones has masters, though their names must not be spoke) bade him to that elusive isle, he went willing enough. Knew it of old, for many a sailor'd met his fate in the perilous waters that surrounded the Isla de Muerta. Even now, some of his men -- half-men, quarter-men, the rest claimed by the sea -- flinched when he spoke of their destination, their mission. He had 'em lashed, for fearing something that was not himself.

Here lay the Isle, just as he'd been told. (The lie of _this_ land varied, moon to moon.) And here, in the heavy dry air, rose piled plunder; ropes of pearls ripped from their watery home, the crowns of kings long dead, the wealth of countries sunk beneath the waves. Above it all, the cursed gold hummed with half-heard names, stained with blood that had a familiar savour.

Davy Jones stood, awkward, on the slope of the beach. Nothing of him moved, not a breath, not a heartbeat; only his tentacles, all alive, all awrithe, tasting and testing the air.

Jack Sparrow'd been here, all right. (Tasted like a promise, like an oath.) Had lived -- had died? no, was not dead -- here amid the glitter and the gloom. (And wasn't there another savour there, a familar flavour salt and sweet at once? It'd come to him. Everything came to him, in the end.)

Bootstrap was behind him, dour as doldrums. Stamping over the heaped coins, the jetsam wealth, as though it was only shingle on a shifting beach. Stepped carefully, and stared down, and spat.

"What's that?" said Davy Jones.

"That's Barbossa. Captain Barbossa, as was. Captain what had me damned to the depths, for _you_ to find."

No use in punishing this man: his fate lay heavy on him. "Good man," said Davy Jones, with relish.

"Pirate," said Bill Turner, "and dead despite the curse... I felt it break."

"Dead, is he?" said Davy Jones.

"Aye," said Bootstrap, stooping to peel back the man's rich coat, revealing richer red blood that was, still, darkly damp. "Dead, and may his bones moulder here 'til this island sinks beneath the waves!"

"Now that you mention it," said Davy Jones, "that day's come sooner than you might think."

"Beg pardon, Captain?"

"I'm bidden," said Davy Jones, "to claim this isle and everything upon it, save for _that_." He waves a claw at the stone chest atop its mound of offerings.

Bootstrap spared not a glance for the brightness, the jewels, the dead kings' ransoms. What was gold to a man whose only currency was years of service? "Everything?" he said.

"A ship can't have two captains," said Davy Jones. "He'll not be with us long."

-end-


End file.
